Once Upon The Damned
by Wocaine
Summary: While on a joyride, Demon!Dean and Crowley suddenly find themselves stranded and jailed in Storybrooke while the magic of the town supresses their mojo. Meanwhile, with Castiel, Sam looks for his brother. When the trail goes cold, Sam and Castiel discover the unfamiliar, unfriendly town. With Castiel weak, Sam must rely on all of his years of hunting to find and cure his brother.


**Once Upon The Damned**

_"What do you think the soul is? Some pie you can slice? The soul can be bludgeoned, tortured, but never broken. Not even by me." - Death_

**York, Maine**

Whiskey in hand, ice cubes rattling with each calculated movement, Crowley sipped the robust elixir in silence, holding a sort of fraternal reverence for the vicious storm his new charge wrought with his very presence. The unrelenting wind howled outside the bar, as the fierce rain besieged the establishment like an endless hail of arrows.

Lightning flashed, the roar of thunder following soon after.

Unfazed, the magnificent specimen, an Adonis tempered by hellfire, devoured his pie with no regard for his surroundings. Crowley's dark eyes glittered with malicious delight,

savoring the scintillatingly inhuman company of Hell's newest recruit-

The lightning and thunder raged again, as though perfectly on cue.

-Dean Winchester.

In the corner of the empty pub so garishly decorated in pop culture memorabilia, an old jukebox sat collecting dust, unplugged. Dean looked up from the empty plate that had preoccupied him not more than a minute ago and fixed his emerald stare upon the broken jukebox, eyes flashing black. To the awe and dismay of the heavier, middle aged woman behind the bar, the jukebox suddenly, unexpectedly came alight as it began to play Credence Clearwater Revival's "Have You Ever Seen The Rain?"

Crowley grunted with amused satisfaction, taking another sip of his whiskey. Dean, in turn, made no effort to acknowledge his companion and took a prolonged swig from his brown bottle.

_Someone told me long ago-_

"Hedonism becomes you, Squirrel," bantered Crowley, flashing a knowing smirk.

_-there's a calm before the storm_. _I know-_

The transformation was recent, yet the absence of humanity in Dean was already apparent. Base urges, no longer bridled by foolish notions such as inhibition and compassion, could now be carried through with no hesitation or remorse. This pleased the King of Hell, for his former nemesis, occasional ally, and frequent subject of ridicule, had now become a pie-eating, womanizing, maestro of murder.

_-it's been coming for some time._

Dean's nose then wrinkled with distaste as a certain scent filled the air, noticed only by the two of them. Bells rang, signifying the opening door and the arrival of new patrons-angels. Six of them.

_When it's over, so they say, it'll rain a sunny day. I know-_

"Abomination," an angel in a black double breasted long coat spat, donning a thin and fair young man as his vessel, as he dropped his short sword down the sleeve of his coat and took hold of it with his right hand. The rest of the angels in his company followed suit, vessels of all sizes and colors. "Die now in the name of Castiel."

_-shining down like water._

Dean raised a hand as if to bid them to silence, rendering the angels unable to speak, as he set the bottle down on the counter and licked his lips before drawing them back into a lupine smile-the chorus was, after all, his favorite part. He stood up, turning around to face his audience, while continuing to wear his vicious smile.

"I wanna knooow," Dean belted out, singing along with no care for the tune he did or didn't carry, "have you ever seen the rain?"

The ground rumbled, causing glasses to fall and shatter, memorabilia to shake free of the wall, and the bartender to duck under a table in fear of the sudden and abnormal quake.

"I wanna knoooow, have you ever seen the rain, comin' down on a sunny day?"

Crowley stood from his barstool and withdrew his stolen angelic sword from an inner pocket of his black blazer. Sharpening his gaze and no longer singing, Dean's focus then shifted to Crowley.

"Don't," Dean ordered brusquely, though his voice held a certain softness to it which reminded Crowley of razorblades wrapped in velvet.

Crowley nodded, stepping back and replacing his blade into his jacket. The quake ceased, the music played.

"So," Dean drawled, pulling the sinister dagger from the pocket of his denim jacket-fashioned from the jawbone of a donkey-the First Blade, "Cas, huh? No call, no text, no flowers? Just a flock of angelic sheep sent to die? Is that my present for," he paused dramatically as he gestured to himself with both hands, "this?"

The angels stood their ground and tensed, poised to lash out without warning.

"I guess," Dean added, musing, "it's like a birthday, eh Crowley?"

Crowley pursed his lips and nodded with approval. "Sure, why not?"

"Birthday," Dean agreed, purring and smiling mirthlessly. "Well, happy birthday to me."

Another flash in the sky banished the light, leaving only darkness and the glow of the broken jukebox to play its requiem for the angels.

_-comin' down on a sunny day..._

* * *

><p><strong>I-95, Massachusetts<strong>

_The next morning_

_**York, Maine - Seven dead in fire, no suspect identified in arson.**_

Castiel looked up from the iPad as the sturdy, able to bounce, car-stolen from an upstanding young entrepreneur, clad in a lot of jewelry-moved along whichever highway his companion led them on. Admittedly, as he reminisced, Castiel had been disappointed by the laughter and jokes that ensued when Dean first saw his new car. Castiel was certain that Dean had an appreciation for older cars, but perhaps he had erred in judgment somehow. It was puzzling. On that vein, this piece of human technology was puzzling as well. Since when did mankind have the ability to create all seeing and all knowing tablets?

"Sam," Castiel announced, solemn and gravelly, "this town called York that is in Maine, I am certain this is the place where my search party vanished."

Sam said nothing, gripping the steering wheel tighter.

An uncomfortable silence. After a moment's hesitation, Sam sighed softly.

"Fifty miles, give or take. We're getting close now."

Castiel's eyes softened at the apparent distress in the young Winchester, he was anxious. Surely, there was something of assistance, something of use he could say to ease Sam's torment.

"He is no longer Dean, Sam," Castiel offered, his sapphire gaze searching Sam's stoic face for any indication of comfort or relief, "he has paid the price for his decisions and needs us to take him down. It's what Dean would have wanted."

Sam inhaled sharply, sucking air through his teeth as his jaw clenched. "Not really helping, Cas."

"My apologies," Castiel replied, hanging his head remorsefully. "Though I cannot think of a way to reverse his condition and your lore has revealed nothing. The Angels are puzzled as well, and Metatron will not speak."

They continued to ride in silence, an empty and cold silence Castiel desperately wanted to fill.

"What of your father's journal?" Castiel suggested, attempting to keep Sam hopeful. "It is, as I recall, a wealth of information."

"No leads," Sam replied, flatly. "Look, Cas, I really appreciate your help, but isn't the whole grace burnout thing a big problem for you, too?"

Was this an attempt to distract him, or to change the subject? Castiel sat, somewhat bemused, as he contemplated the direction this conversation had now taken. Possibly, Sam was simply concerned for his wellbeing. Perhaps, Castiel supposed, it was both.

"It is," Castiel admitted, with pause, deciding to play along with this idle pleasantry, "a precarious situation, yes. However, the angels in heaven are looking into the matter as we speak. I can be reached through Angel Radio at any time and thought it best to support you."

Sam inhaled deeply, his nostrils flaring as his mouth drew taut. He then nodded and relaxed his expression with a subtle smile. "Okay. Thanks, Cas."

"You are welcome," Castiel said simply, staring out past the windshield of the old town car.

"So," Sam huffed, exhausted, "tell me about that fire in Maine. A bar?"

**End Chapter**

**Author's note: **Hey, all! This is an idea for a crossover that struck me early, early in the morning. I'll be operating from the finale of both respective series. So, while I may get inspiration from what I see, I will not be following the plotlines of the new seasons. I'm really not feeling the Elsa arc, and frankly, it seems easier to mesh SPN into the new season of Once than the Frozen arc-that's saying something. At any rate, review and leave feedback! Thanks!


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